Primary Colors
by knightshade
Summary: A series of short stories written with color prompts. Summaries for each story are located in Chapter 1.
1. Charmer

These stories were all written for a challenge that paired characters with a color prompt. There are 5 stories for each character/prompt combination.

Devon/blue  
Bonnie/yellow  
Michael/red

Summaries:

Chapter 1: **Charmer **- Devon/baby blue  
Devon meets a good friend for the first time.

Chapter 2: **Montserrat**- Devon/turquoise  
Devon's in love, but he's also in a dangerous occupation.

Chapter 3: **Cerulean **- Devon/cerulean  
Michael's in trouble -- he just doesn't know if Devon knows it yet.

Chapter 4: **Phoenix **- Devon/indigo  
Devon finds a piece of the past while cleaning out his files.

Chapter 5: **All Manner of Things Thought While Lying on the Floor **- Devon/navy.  
Lying on the floor leaves Devon with a little too much time to think.

Chapter 6: **Jaundice **- Bonnie/jaundice  
Bonnie finds that certain things have come back to haunt her.

Chapter 7: **Mating Rituals **- Bonnie/blonde  
Kitt's a little confused.

Chapter 8: **Job Description **- Bonnie/amber  
Sometimes repairs can be tricky.

Chapter 9: **Spare Parts **- Bonnie/canary  
Bonnie needs a replacement part.

Chapter 10: **Shaking Things Up **- Bonnie/golden  
Coming Soon

Chapter 11:**Ornaments** - Michael/caramine  
Coming Soon

Chapter 12: **Glow** - Michael/scarlet  
Coming Soon

Chapter 13: **Pretty Face** - Michael/ginger  
Coming Soon

Chapter 14: **Splatter** - Michael/crimson  
Coming Soon

Chapter 15: **Anniversaries** - Michael/ruby  
Coming Soon

* * *

Title: Charmer  
Author: knightshade  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Knight Rider characters, I just play with them. Universal is keeper of the rights. 

Author's Notes: This was written forthe LJ colorificchallenge community. Thank you toMitch Knightsfor the beta read. This story takes place pre-series.

**Charmer**

"Don't bat those baby blues at me, Devon Miles," Maggie Flynn chided, giving the man a glare out of the corner of her eye as they hurried down the hallway toward her office.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Madame Senator."

"Maggie." She was getting tired of repeating that. Did he have to be so _formal_? But she could tell by the slight up-turn at the corners of his mouth that he knew exactly what she meant. So maybe not so formal. "I've been warned about you."

"Oh really? And what, pray tell have you heard?"

"According to Former Senator Hammond, you're something of a used car salesman." Of course Harold hadn't quite put it that way -- she was paraphrasing.

Devon bristled and stopped short in the hallway. "I assure you, Madame, that the Foundation for Law and Government is a reputable organization with an exemplary record of charitable works," he sputtered, a reddish hue creeping up from under his collar.

"Oh, I don't doubt it," she said, waving her hand dismissively and carrying on down the hallway. "But I get the feeling that you could charm the habit off a nun."

She glanced over her shoulder to see that he was still standing there gaping after her. She almost felt guilty. But Maggie was a firm believer that too much decorum was bad for a person, and Devon Miles was exhibit one. "You're far too serious and I don't have all day. Come on. You didn't leave me all those voice mails to get scared off that easily."

"I wasn't 'scared off', Mad – er, Maggie. I simply felt that the Foundation's reputation was being impugned."

"Not at all. I've been around the block a few times. I know how the game is played. A new senator gets elected and all the special interest groups send out their lobbyists to butter her up."

"I'm not a lobbyist. I'm the Foundation's Executive Director."

"I know. Why do you think I agreed to meet with you personally?"

"And here I thought it was my charming personality," he deadpanned.

There was hope for him yet, Maggie thought as she fished in her purse for her keys. "You piqued my curiosity. Since you aren't a lobbyist, I have to ask, what is it that you want, Devon?"

"I'd like to sit down with you and discuss the Foundation. Let you know about some of our causes. Perhaps over dinner?"

She eyed him playfully. "Is that a meeting or a date?"

"A meeting," he said, color rising in his cheeks again.

Maggie tilted her head. "Pity." She fitted her key into the lock and pushed open her office door.

Devon just stared after her looking like he was afraid her office was some den of iniquity. He was too easy. It wasn't even sporting – like shooting fish in a barrel. "I'm kidding, Devon. Come in. I don't bite." He looked at her a bit warily. "I will throw a barb or two your way, but feel free to throw them right back."

"Fair enough." He didn't exactly look convinced, but he crossed the threshold into her office anyway.

She sat behind her desk and gestured to the chair across from it. As he took a seat, she took the opportunity to size him up. He certainly wasn't hard on the eyes. He was perhaps a few years older than she was – probably in his late fifties – and impeccably dressed. His hair was a mix of silver and sandy-brown, and his eyes were so blue they were practically criminal. It was enough to catch her attention. She'd only been trying to throw him off balance with her comment about dinner, but sitting here, she decided she wouldn't be adverse to the idea. "So I still don't think I quite understand what you want from me. What does a charitable foundation want with a senator?"

"We've worked with Senator Hammond in the past to introduce bills."

"Oh? Which ones?"

Devon leaned forward and steeped his fingers in front of his chin. "They're mostly related to the rights of crime victims and other issues in the realm of criminal justice."

"I see. And you're looking to work with me?"

"Ideally, yes."

"I'd be happy to have my staff look over any proposals you might have." Once she had her staff in place, that was. It had been a whirlwind since the election.

"In the past, Senator Hammond has graciously agreed to speak at some of our fundraisers and events."

She raised an eyebrow. "Ah. And you'd like me to do the same?"

"Only if you're comfortable with that arrangement. The Foundation was founded on the principle that one person, each person, can make a difference. That no one is above the law and everyone deserves justice. And we, I, am willing to do whatever it takes to help further that cause. Based on the way you ran your campaign, you're also a firm believer in the rights of the people. We've found that it's useful to form allegiances with others who share our aims."

The man did his homework. And she was intrigued. Maggie liked his gumption and she was still impressed that he'd come personally – he was a cut above the slimy lobbyists who'd been sniffing around the office since she'd taken her seat in the Senate. "You've got my attention. I have a meeting in a few minutes, but I'd like to hear more."

He smiled and tilted his head a little. "Then I won't take up any more of your time today. I'll call your assistant and set up a suitable dinner meeting."

"You'd better not stand me up, Mr. Miles," she warned with a grin.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Madame Senator."

"Maggie. I look forward to it."

He nodded his head and then rose, took her hand, and kissed it. "Good day, Maggie."

Maggie watched as he turned and left the office. She had to actually tear her thoughts away from dinner to prepare for her meeting.

My, he was a charmer, she thought.

----------------------  
-knightshade  
November 6, 2005


	2. Montserrat

Title: Montserrat  
Author: knightshade  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Knight Rider characters, I just play with them. Universal is keeper of the rights.

Author's Notes: This was written forLiveJournal's colorificchallenge community. Thank you to Mitch Knights for the beta read. This story is pre-series.

**Montserrat**

"Take me to Montserrat someday," Marie said wistfully in that beautiful French accent of hers. Normally it would carry him away, light as a feather, but today it just added fuel to his already morose mood. He looked up from their table at the little outdoor café and stared out across the grey banks of the Seine.

"We talked about this, Marie." They had spent many hours talking about it last night, and the wounds were still fresh. He loved her, but his unit was being sent back out in a few days. He would be leaving the relative safety of liberated Paris and heading into the uncertainty of the occupied countryside. He'd told her that he might not come back, that his job as a spy was dangerous, and that she shouldn't wait for him. He'd told her that he wouldn't marry her right now because he didn't want to make her a widow. But he still wasn't sure if she'd heard him.

Marie rested her chin on the back of her wrist, her fingers sloping elegantly toward the table. "Don't spoil our last few days. I want to daydream. I want to look at the sky and point out pretty fairy tales in the clouds. Let me have my fun."

Her eyes were so sad, and what could he say to that? As long as she knew the truth, what was the harm in a little make-believe? He too was tired of letting the dreary reality of life during a war overwhelm their time together. He forced some gaiety into his voice and endeavored to play along. "Why Montserrat? What's wrong with a holiday in Southern England?"

Her smile was sad but it was still a smile. And she had the most luminous smiles. "I do want to see your country someday too. But I suspect it's not so different from mine. I've been to the seaside in Bretagne. My family went on holiday there when I was a child. But the sea's so cold and dark."

Devon nodded, thinking that Dover was beautiful but in a cold and standoffish way. Not very inviting.

"A classmate of mine went to Montserrat with her family. She said it was magnificent. She said all the buildings were painted in pastels. Can you imagine pink and mint green houses? They stayed in a villa overlooking the Caribbean and she said the water was the most beautiful turquoise blue - almost green. She even went swimming and said it was as warm as a bath. She showed me pictures of little lizards, palm trees, and flowers the size of hats. It must be so romantic, Devon."

He smiled and took a sip of his tea, running a finger over the handle when he set it back on the saucer. Marie had had some very wealthy classmates. "It sounds lovely. Like paradise."

Her eyes bore right through him with the intensity of their pleading. "Take me there someday."

Devon felt his heart crumbling as he reached to take her hand. "Whatever your heart desires, my dear," he said, drowning under the weight of a beautiful, turquoise blue lie.

----------------------  
-knightshade  
November 6, 2005


	3. Cerulean

Title: Cerulean  
Author: knightshade  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Universal owns all things Knight Rider.

Author's Notes: Thank you to Mitch Knights for the beta read.

**Cerulean**

Michael paused outside Devon's office and eyed the door warily. "Does he know?" he asked Kitt over the comlink.

"I have no idea," Kitt answered. "Maybe you should just tell him. Clear your guilty conscience."

"Yeah, I'll take that under advisement, pal."

"He'll be less angry about it that way."

"He'll be less angry if he never knows." Michael broke the connection and decided that hanging around outside the door was not going to make it any easier to go in. He'd been summoned – it was a little too much like being called to the principal's office in grade school. This was one of those times when there was reason enough for him to be in trouble, but he had no idea if Devon knew that or not.

But he wasn't going to find out by pacing the hallway. It was time to go in and meet the beast.

"Yo, Devon," he said as he crossed the threshold after not knocking. He couldn't give it away by suddenly being too respectful. "How was your vacation?"

He covertly scanned Devon's desk and saw that it wasn't there. Damn. He must know.

"Quite lovely. Thank you for asking." He didn't i seem /i angry.

"Are you gonna bore us with a slide show or anything?" Michael asked, hoping his grin would cover for him.

"I hadn't planned on it," Devon said with a raised brow.

"That's good to hear."

Devon just stared and then shook his head befuddled. "Anything unusual happen while I was gone?"

Michael's eyes widened before he thought to guard against it. "Unusual? Ah. No." Not really unusual. Accidents happened every day.

"Hmm." Devon glanced down at his left hand and frowned. Then he looked back up at Michael. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Crap. "Ahhhh?" he asked trying to buy time.

"The report for the Foster case, which was due on my desk Friday, but has yet to make an appearance?"

Oh. Right. The report. The cause of this mess. "Ahhhh."

"I take it you haven't finished?"

"No. But I was working on it." True. "I'll get it to you by the end of the day." Better than middling chance of being true.

"Michael, you really do need to keep on top of your paperwork. The board requires that we keep complete records on all of our cases," Devon chided.

"You're right, Devon. I'm sorry. I'll get on it right away."

Devon was looking at his other hand now and frowning again.

"Was that all?" Did he sound too hopeful?

Devon looked up, holding both hands awkwardly in front of him. "What? Oh, yes. Of course."

"Something wrong, Devon?"

"No. I just seem to have gotten something on my hands." He tilted them down and Michael's heart jumped. There were greenish-blue smudges on his boss's fingertips. "Ah. Looks like ink stains or something." Sort of true.

Devon frowned more. "But I haven't been using a pen." He was still staring down at his fingers, turning them back and forth in the light. "And it's not the sort of blue in most pens. It's more green. It's almost . . ." His head popped up and turned to look at a corner shelf. "Cerulean."

Michael followed his gaze and saw the vase sitting on a shelf. Devon must have moved it. "Ah, I can explain," Michael said, deciding it was time to follow his partner's advice. Devon just stared at him. "I was going to work on my report, but I needed the form, which I knew was on your desk. So, I went looking for it and in the process, I kind of knocked over the vase."

Devon's eyes widened. "Do you have any idea how much that vase is worth?"

"No. But I'm sure it's not cheap." Oh was it ever not cheap, if the look in Devon's eyes was any indication. "But I fixed it," he said, charging over to the shelf and lifting it triumphantly. He hadn't thought it was possible for Devon to look any more horrified. He was wrong. He set the vase back down.

"How?" Devon sputtered.

"How what?"

"How did you fix it?"

Michael glanced at his own hands which now were also covered in blue smudges. "Bondo and oil paint. A former girlfriend of mine mixed the color," he said hopefully.

"Out!" Devon stood up behind his desk and pointed to the door.

"Devon, I'm really . . ."

"Out! Out! Out!"

Michael knew when to beat a retreat. "Sorry," he said, scurrying for the door, deciding that the report would wait. Right now he was going to see if his partner had any bright ideas on how to get back into his boss's good graces.

------------------  
-knightshade  
December 15, 2005


	4. Phoenix

Title: Phoenix  
Author: knightshade  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I don't own Knight Rider or it's characters.

Summary: Devon finds a piece of the past while cleaning out his files.

Author's Notes: Thank you to Mitch Knights for the beta!

**Phoenix**

Devon pulled a handful of folders out of the file cabinet in front of him and dumped them unceremoniously atop the growing pile on the floor. It was frightening just how much one could accumulate if one wasn't meticulous about cleaning out one's files. The 'one' in this case, of course, being him. Devon's office had only a couple of small cabinets – it was hard to find anything tasteful. Long ago he had appropriated a large closet to store the bulk of his files. But now he'd run out of room. Being out of sight and mind, he'd let the closet get away from him, and the day of reckoning was finally here.

Devon had left his jacket in his office, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie. His fingers were covered with grayish dust and he was enveloped by the old, stale smell of aging paper. He tried not to breathe too deeply – it led to fits of sneezing.

He pulled out another stack of files, glanced at them quickly and tossed them on the pile. But something caught his attention. The words on the top tab of one of the files sputtered in his mind and then caught, causing him to stop. Devon glanced down at the pile with a bit of a frown. He stooped and fished though the papers until he found the folder. Written across the top were the words, "Project Indigo."

What the devil was that doing here, he wondered. He thought all the files from the early days had been sent out for storage or destroyed.

Absentmindedly, Devon swept the folders off the lone chair in the room and sank down onto its corner, leafing through his find. The musty yellow pages were covered with ancient pencil scrawl -- drawings and sketches, notes and formulas, all in shaky handwriting.

Wilton's handwriting.

'Project Indigo.' Wilton Knight's first grand plan. His airplane.

Devon ran a hand over the smeared scribble of a cockpit drawing. Wilton had worked so hard, had been so driven only to see his hard work stolen. When Cameron Zachary's group swept in and absconded with Wilton's cockpit design, it'd seemed that all was lost. Wilton had done everything in his power to get the designs returned to him. He'd tried filing complaint after complaint with the authorities. He'd hired private investigators and had finally sent a whole army of lawyers after Zachary's crew. But to no avail. Wilton had been crushed when he'd seen the patent in Zachary's name. Devon had worried that Wilton was going to lose faith completely and retire.

But Wilton had surprised him.

One night, perhaps a month after they'd finally given up on Indigo, Devon had found Wilton in his office scribbling away with a spark of irrepressible optimism. Framed by a single small lamp, alone in his spartan office, Wilton was practically glowing with creative vigor.

And what energy it had been. It had carried Wilton through years of ups and downs, setbacks and triumphs. Devon was convinced that it was this spark that had sustained him through his long illness. It had only been after his dream had safely reached a point where it could stand on its own, that he had finally succumbed.

The plane had been a small step, creating an onboard computer that would pull together all the relevant data - navigation, avionics, instrumentation, and weather. Wilton wanted to give the pilots one convenient place to get a total picture of their aircraft. He called it a glass cockpit. What an insult that they'd even stolen the phrase he'd coined. But the glass cockpit had been a relatively simple innovation. It was nothing compared to the idea that had set him off on those late night, frenetic scribbling sessions.

The idea of a car controlled by a thinking, sentient computer, dedicated to the protection of its driver, able to do astounding things, was revolutionary. And all in the name of bringing justice to people who'd been wronged as Wilton had -- with no hope of redress, no hope of a resolution. In the ashes of a good idea was borne a beautiful, fiery dream. It had taken flight with a majesty that none of them had anticipated.

In the molting of the dull, damaged feathers of Indigo, beautiful iridescent blue plumes had flourished in their stead.

The task of cleaning forgotten, Devon reverently closed the folder, and tucked it under his arm. He decided he'd keep the file in his office. It would serve as a reminder.

Sometimes it took the death of something good to achieve something great.


	5. All Manner of Things

Title: All Manner of Things Thought While Lying on the Floor  
Author: knightshade  
Rating: PG

Disclaimer: See Universal. See Larson. I'm just playing, not making a living.

Summary: Lying on the floor leaves Devon with a little too much time to think.

Author's Notes: Thank you to Tomy for the beta! I took a little creative license on this scene. The details aren't precisely right. But I needed a little leeway. ;-)

Written for colorific.

**All Manner of Things Thought While Lying on the Floor**

Devon was lying on the floor, trying his best not to move. His eyes were closed, but he could feel the viscous, red fluid creeping along his abdomen. He could image the seeping patch of wet navy it was creating in his blue suit. He cringed at the more startling effect it was certainly having on his white shirt and the beige carpeting. The whole situation was very disconcerting – even though he knew it wasn't real.

It was so quiet in the room that he could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock. Devon was tempted to open his eyes to see how long he'd been lying there since Michael left. But he resisted the temptation. The security cameras were not nearly good enough to pick up his eyes opening, but he was worried he'd make some inadvertent movement that could give away the game – alert LaSalle to the fact that he wasn't, in fact, dead.

This operation had been too intricate a charade to risk endangering now.

It had been quite a dance -- getting it to appear that Michael had fallen from grace at the Foundation. They'd thought they had planned for most of the likely contingencies, but then Michael had contacted him over the emergency communications channel they'd set up. LaSalle wanted him to kill Devon as a show of loyalty. After setting up a hasty plan, it had been a rush to get everything in place. They were trying to keep as few people involved as possible, but he'd had to bring in someone from security to pull this off. He'd needed to talk to an old friend in the movie business who told him where to find the fake blood packets and 'blanks' for the gun. Devon had left the rubber bullets stashed on the Foundation's grounds and sent a message to Michael. Then he'd had to pick out a sacrificial suit. He regretted that they'd had to forfeit the brand new carpet in his office, but rolling it up and taking it away would have been a bit suspicious.

Devon decided that when he had the carpet replaced, he'd have to ask Cathy to get a thicker pad. Not that he planned to make a habit of lying on it, but he was starting to get uncomfortable.

And he needed to get her to clear his schedule for the next few days. Dead men didn't typically attend meetings.

Oh, and he'd have to remember to reschedule the tour that was supposed to come through tomorrow.

So much to do that Devon hadn't been planning on.

There had been a flurry of activity this afternoon and then he'd just had to settle in to wait. He'd sent Bonnie home and had in fact been quite rude about it. He wanted her to think that he was in a foul mood. Devon didn't want to take the chance that she'd decide to work late, see his light on, and stop by. He most definitely did not want her to happen upon him like this. She was already angry and confused about Michael leaving. They'd taken a calculated risk in not telling either her or Kitt. He and Michael had agreed that it was likely LaSalle had access to Kitt's systems. As a result, they couldn't let Kitt know their plans. Michael had brought up the fact that it was going to be hard enough for him to deceive Kitt, even with all his intelligence training. Bonnie had none of that in her background. She tended to wear her emotions on her sleeve to begin with, and Kitt was nothing if not perceptive. He didn't like it, but for the success of the mission, both Kitt and Bonnie had been kept in the dark.

Devon was worried that that could have far reaching consequences for all of them. He worried it would affect their cohesion and ability to work together. He worried it would damage their trust. And he knew that Michael was concerned about that as well. It had taken quite a while to build the level of trust that he and Kitt now shared. Devon hated the idea that their relationship could be compromised. LaSalle was a dangerous criminal, but Devon couldn't help wondering if the ends really justified the means.

That and he was not looking forward to telling Bonnie that he and Michael had lied to her. If she had to be told after finding him playing dead on the floor in a pool of fake blood, he'd be surprised if she didn't have their heads on pikes by the end of the day.

Devon's thoughts were interrupted by a small popping sound. For all his attempts to lie still, he must have shifted his weight ever so slightly, causing another of the pouches strapped to his mid-section to spill its contents. He had to admit that he was glad to be distracted from his previous line of thinking, but the relief was quickly replaced by annoyance. The fake blood had picked up his body heat. It was warm, sticky, and not at all pleasant. It felt like it had the consistency of maple syrup and smelled just as sweet. He wondered how much longer he was going to have to wait.

Peter from security had said that he'd need to collect fifteen to twenty minutes of video of him lying there. Then they could feed that footage back into the system in case LaSalle was still watching. Funny how long twenty minutes seemed when one was lying on one's floor.

At least everything had gone according to plan once Michael had arrived. They'd hurled a few insults at each other, Devon had gone for the gun in his safe, and Michael had shot him with the blanks. Perfectly executed. And Devon had to admit that that was bothering him just a bit.

They were only play acting of course, but he'd spent the first few minutes on the floor of his office feeling just the slightest bit betrayed. They'd both probably intentionally hauled out insults from real points of conflict. It was only logical. Feelings grounded in reality would have a truth to them that something entirely faked would not. But it still bothered him. Had any of the things Michael said been things he'd always wanted to say? Was he in some way relishing the opportunity to do so?

Devon certainly hoped not.

He hoped that he wasn't alone in feeling that their issues and disagreements had been laid to rest. They may never share the same taste in music or food, but he thought – hoped -- that they did share a mutual respect. Oh they bickered and jibed at each other but it was done with affection. At least it was on his part. Somewhere along the way he'd come to see Michael and Bonnie as the children he never had. Somehow they'd managed to become family with all the good and bad that that entailed, which was probably why hearing those barbs had stung. He wondered if it bothered Michael at all.

But of course Michael was busy trying to keep up the charade for LaSalle and trying to piece together what the man was up to. He wasn't lying on a floor killing time.

Where was that guard? Surely it had been twenty minutes by now?

Just knowing he couldn't move was making his muscles twitchy.

It was interesting, this discomfort over exchanging heated words with Michael and lying to Bonnie. He had only the barest of reasons for viewing them as family. He hadn't watched them grow up -- he'd only been part of their lives for a short, albeit intense, time. And yet the thought of being betrayed by one of them tore him up. The thought that they could harbor resentment over old wounds bothered him. And the memories of times that he'd treated them poorly filled him with shame. This was how he felt after a few short years. He couldn't fathom how he'd feel about real children. He was starting to have a little more empathy for Wilton and what he must have gone through when Garthe turned his back and left for Africa. Devon knew it had been hard on his friend, but there had been little in his own experience to compare it to. Devon didn't regret the course of his life, but there were things he'd certainly missed out on.

And right now, he was thinking that he would have liked to have missed out on the war wound that was nagging in the small of his back. He was really getting old if he couldn't even lie on a carpeted floor for twenty minutes without all the joints and muscles in his body protesting.

There was a fumbling outside the door and Devon briefly worried that it was someone other than Peter. What a mess that would be. But the guard poked his head in.

"You're in the clear Mr. Miles," he said. "We've got a playback loop running."

Devon slowly got to his feet and brushed himself off. It was a futile gesture given the stains on his clothing. "Thank you, Peter."

"Anything else, just let me know," he said and disappeared again.

Devon glanced at the grandfather clock and it had indeed only been about twenty minutes since Michael had left. He limped over to the open French door in the office and peered out before carefully shutting it. Godspeed, Michael, he thought, before turning back to his desk. He would be happy when this case was over, and his family was all back home.

-----------------------  
-knightshade  
December 31, 2005


	6. Jaundice

Title: Jaundice  
Author: knightshade  
Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don't own Knight Rider or any of it's characters, but you knew that.

Summary: Bonnie finds that certain things have come back to haunt her.

Author's Notes: A big thank you to Evil Little Dog for the beta. This was written for colorific .

**Jaundice**

Bonnie was exhausted, functional only because of a steady influx of caffeine. She was seeing-things-move-out-of-the-corner-of-her-eyes tired which, combined with the caffeine, was doing a number on her nerves. She wanted to go home and nap, but that would just mess up her sleep schedule -- or lack thereof. She needed to finish fixing up the wear and tear on Kitt anyway. That and with the goings on in the kitchen, she was a bit afraid to leave the semi unattended.

Michael and RC were carving pumpkins.

She didn't want to think about exactly what sort of mess they were making.

They'd asked her to join them and she'd begged off with the excuse that she had too much to do. That was at least partially true, but she also didn't feel much in the spirit of the holiday. Last year had been too unsettling, with the murder in her apartment building. It had taken weeks before she'd been able to go into her bathroom without any hesitation. Of course it had faded quickly enough, but she was surprised to find that when the pumpkins came out and the Halloween parties started up again, she was feeling uneasy. She'd been closing her drapes as soon as it started to get dark, startling whenever she heard water rushing through her apartment's pipes, and glancing nervously at the mirror and bathtub whenever she found herself at the bathroom door.

Bonnie tied her hair back in a ponytail and tried to concentrate on the screen as a series of measurements scrolled across it, but her mind just kept wandering. She had enough irrational fears, she didn't need another one. Especially not a fear of Halloween parties and pumpkins. That was just ridiculous.

The data in front of her stopped scrolling and she was relieved to see that the built in test had passed successfully. She just needed to check a few more things and –

Something cold and wet touched her neck and she caught the movement of something orange over her shoulder. She whipped around and flew out of her chair before her brain could catch up. She found herself facing a laughing RC and grinning Michael. Several less than pleasant remarks jumped to mind. Bonnie managed to hold them back and chose "Not funny," as the least caustic response.

"What do you mean? That was hilarious, ay, Michael," RC said, still laughing. He was holding a small carved pumpkin in his hands, its eyes lit by one of Kitt's spare LEDs in the little battery-powered tester she'd built. "The look on your face was something."

Michael's hands were covered in pumpkin slime. Bonnie rubbed the back of her neck and her hand came away sticky. She stared down at the jaundiced pumpkin gore on her fingers. "Really not funny," she said, grabbing a tissue from the box next to her computer and wiping away the offensive slime.

"Oh lighten up," RC crowed. "It's Halloween. It's fun. When did you become such a stick in the mud?"

Bonnie gave Michael a look that she hoped said something like, 'When I witnessed a murder, was stalked by the killer, thought I was losing my mind, and was nearly strangled.' Then she looked back at RC and sighed. "I'm just way too tired for this right now."

Michael's grin had faded a little bit. "Come on RC, let's go clean up the mess."

"Yeah, okay." He set the pumpkin down on the top of her monitor and the two of them disappeared again.

Bonnie's heart was still racing, and she doubled her efforts to finish up so that she could just go home. But even having the pumpkin staring down at her was unnerving. She set it on the table next to her where she hoped she could ignore it.

After a few minutes, she'd calmed down and Michael reemerged from the kitchen, his hands now clean. "Is Kitt read to go?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. He's all set."

Michael came up behind her, set a hand gently on her shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. "Try to get some sleep, okay?"

"I will," she answered.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. She glanced up and caught the sincerity in his eyes. He plucked the pumpkin off the table and took it with him as walked down the bay back to Kitt.

"Thank you," she said softly after him.

-----------------------  
-knightshade  
December 23, 2005


	7. Mating Rituals

Title: Mating Rituals  
Author: knightshade  
Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don't own Knight Rider or it's characters.

Summary: Kitt's a little confused.

Author's Notes: Thank you to Evil Little Dog for the beta. This story was written for the colorific challenge.

**Mating Rituals**

Bonnie paused from making an adjustment just long enough to ask, "So does Michael have a date to the fundraiser?"

"Yes, Bonnie," Kitt answered a bit wearily. These conversations left him perplexed. Before the last three fundraisers, both Bonnie and Michael had independently come to him and asked if the other had a date. They both tried to sound casual, as though they didn't really care, but the tonal quality of their voices said otherwise. And if they didn't care, then why did they keep asking?

"Let me guess, a blonde?"

"That's a safe bet, Bonnie. Sixty-two percent of Michael's girlfriends have been blonde."

"And since it's Michael we're talking about, there's no reason to think that number isn't statistically significant," she sniped.

As much as he might like to, Kitt couldn't argue that point. He'd given up trying to understand why his partner dated so many women and just accepted it as a peculiar character trait. Although he was again confused as to why it bothered Bonnie. Michael had asked her out on a couple of occasions and she'd said no. But she always seemed to get agitated when discussing Michael's girlfriends.

"So is she a Bambi or a Barbie?"

"Her name is Heidi. And she'd actually quite nice." Kitt kind of hoped that Heidi would be around longer than some of his partner's girlfriends. She was friendly to him – not all of them were. And she was more engaging than most.

"Oh, I'm sure she's very . . . _nice_."

Kitt detected the sarcasm. He just wasn't exactly sure what she meant by it. But he could take a few guesses and they weren't very pleasant.

"Bonnie, I think you'd like Heidi. I do."

She paused with what she as doing and sighed. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was catty of me."

He waited a beat and then said, "If you wanted to go to the fundraiser with Michael, I'm sure he'd be happy to take you."

She popped up from under the dash, horror painted across her face. "What makes you think I want to go to the fundraiser with Michael?"

"You keep asking if he has a date, so I assumed . . ."

"Trust me, I have _no_ interest in going out with Michael. I was just curious who was going to be sitting at our table. That's all." She ducked back under the dash and forced a board into place none-too-gently. The silence that followed was very awkward and it was clear that as far as Bonnie was concerned, the conversation was over. But there was a blush creeping into her cheeks, and based on her vital signs, it looked like she was lying. Or maybe just not being completely truthful.

It was all so confusing. Kitt didn't think he'd ever understand human mating rituals. Michael often said that women were impossible to figure out and Kitt was starting to see what he meant. Bonnie acted like she didn't care but she obviously did. And if she wanted to go out with Michael, why didn't she just say 'yes' when he asked her?

But he wasn't sure that men were any easier to understand. If Michael liked Bonnie, then why did he date so many other women? And with so many women who found him attractive, why would he keep trying to get the attention of one who didn't? Or at least said she didn't. The whole thing sent his logic circuits spinning in a hopeless infinite loop. And the part that frustrated Kitt the most was that the two people he trusted the most to help him make sense of the world wouldn't explain it to him because they wouldn't even admit that there was anything to explain. Not to mention the fact that he didn't feel it was right to tell either of them what the other was asking. It felt like he would be betraying their confidence.

So the only thing left for him to do was continue taking in data and hoping that sooner or later he'd have enough information to make sense of it all.

But Kitt had to admit he had his doubts about the probability of that outcome.

------------------------  
-knightshade  
December 23, 2005


	8. Job Description

Title: Job Description  
Author: knightshade  
Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Knight Rider is the property of Glen A. Larson and Universal. I am but a hack.

Summary: Sometimes repairs can be tricky.

Author's Notes: Thank you to Tomy for the beta! This was written for the colorific challenge.

**Job Description**

Bonnie moved the circuit card under the microscope slowly and methodically, following the copper lines along the trace that wasn't working. She was working almost entirely by the light under her microscope, having turned off the semi's fluorescents and dimmed the track lighting. Michael was getting some much needed sleep in the office section and she was trying her best not to wake him.

As the various components slid under the lens, looking like the buildings of a tiny city, a small shadow caught her eye. She stilled her hand and took another look, slowly tilting the board in the light. There was a tiny fissure running through one of the little brown, cylinder-shaped resisters. Bonnie glanced over at the schematic on the bench to her right and located the part. Sure enough, a short there would render the whole path useless. Kitt would experience exactly the sort of symptoms he was seeing. If she had another card, she'd just replace the whole thing, but the only spares were back in the garage. Bonnie flipped the switch on her soldering iron and sat back to wait for it to heat up.

Soldering wasn't exactly in the typical PhD's job description. Most of the people Bonnie went to school with ended up in academia where they coordinated research and published papers. Grunt work like soldering was a chore that wasn't even fit for graduate students. She'd always been more hands on than most in her field – but she never would have guessed that she'd end up with a job where she did a little bit of everything.

Bonnie squirted a stream of water onto a little green sponge and then swiped the tip of the soldering iron across it. The water in the sponge hissed and spat, telling her the iron was hot enough. She pressed a bit of copper braiding between the iron and the end of the resistor. It only took a few seconds for the solder to melt into a silvery pool and wick into the braid. She moved to the other side of the resistor and repeated the procedure.

The truth was she didn't mind soldering. Unlike much of her job, it didn't require her to absorb a lot of information or problem solve. It was methodical work that required a steady hand, but her mind was free to wander. And on a night like this, she knew she could take her time and do a good job. She wasn't in a rush.

Although that hadn't been obvious when Michael and Kitt first came in.

It had been clear that Michael was not happy about the delay in the investigation – especially not to fix what he considered a non-critical system. Kitt must have locked him in and put the car in Auto to get Michael to come back to the semi. The tension in the air had been palpable, and it hadn't been long before her own hackles went up. Michael had been pacing around the office like a caged panther asking her every few minutes how much longer she was going to be. But thankfully, he'd flopped down in one of the seats to wait out the diagnostics and his exhaustion had gotten the better of his anger and impatience. He'd been burning the candle at both ends the last few weeks and once he'd stopped moving, he'd fallen fast asleep.

Bonnie removed the broken resistor and got up to find a replacement in the organized rack of plastic bins. It took her a minute in the dim light, but she found the right resistor and sat back down.

Leaning back to avoid breathing in the lead-laden fumes, Bonnie quickly soldered the new part in place. She checked the little mounds of gleaming metal and then clipped the leads on the back side. She plucked a little brush from a bin on the shelf, dabbed it with flux remover, and used it to wash away the burnt residue. Then she inspected the board and cleaned off all of the little dirt and grease smudges it had picked up while being in the car. She had the time, she wanted to be sure the board was in pristine condition before she reinstalled it under Kitt's dash.

Trying to move quietly in the dark, Bonnie slipped around to Kitt's passenger door and carefully coaxed it open. Michael was still dosing, his head lolling to the side. She slid into the car and ducked down so that she could see the exposed underside of the dash. The board made a quiet clicking sound as she snapped it into place.

"That should do it, Kitt," she whispered and sat back up in the seat.

"Thank you, Bonnie. I'm sorry to make you work so late, but I just couldn't take the chance that we'd need it," he whispered back.

Bonnie smiled. "I know. It's okay." She glanced over at Michael and then rested her hand on Kitt's dash.

They waited while the system initialized. Then the amber words, 'Passive Laser Restraint Failure," changed to green text that read, 'Passive Laser Restraint Active.'

"It appears to be working now, Bonnie. Thank you." The relief in his voice was unmistakable.

"You're welcome," she answered, directing her comment as much to Michael's sleeping form as to Kitt.

It wasn't in a PhD's job description to solder.

But this was so much more than a job.

---------------------  
-knightshade  
December 31, 2005


	9. Spare Parts

Title: Spare Parts  
Author: knightshade  
Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don't own Bonnie or Kitt. I do, however, own Stephen – poor man.

Summary: Bonnie needs a replacement part.

Author's Notes: Many thanks to gumnut for the beta. This was written for the colorific challenge. This story takes place pre-series.

**Spare Parts**

Bonnie looked up and pushed the large magnifying lens back against the bench as one of the other Knight Industries technicians sauntered into the lab.

"I found a replacement for that component you burned up," Stephen said with a grin that she knew was meant to get her goat.

"_I_ didn't burn up anything. That was Evan. And I quote, 'It's glowing. Is that bad?'"

"Not everyone can be blessed with good common sense."

She rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it."

"You'll laugh about it someday."

"Yeah. So what have you got? These parts are toast - literally."

He gave her a smug grin. "Spare."

"Spare? I didn't think we had any of those."

"Yeah, neither did I, but I started asking around and Jensen had this one hidden away in one of his cabinets." He tossed her a small, boxy component. "Apparently there was some early proof of design work done and Jensen had this left over."

That was surprising. One of the things that drove Bonnie nuts was never having enough spare parts. It was a penny-wise, pound-foolish attempt to keep the Knight Industries Two Thousand project under budget. It was surprising that they'd taken the time to do a proof-of-design phase on a smaller subsystem like this. But she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth either. She started hooking up the test cables to see if it even still worked.

"There is one catch though. According to Jensen it's an earlier design and Wilton Knight hated it. You're going to have to modify it with parts from the burned out module to make it look like the new design."

Bonnie shrugged. It was still better than nothing. She applied power, injected a test signal, and was pleasantly surprised when the component jumped to life. She studied it for a moment and then glanced up at Stephen. "I actually like this better than the new design. It's a lot easier on the eyes."

Stephen shrugged. "I'm just relaying orders. Jensen said it would be a problem if we used it as is. He was pretty insistent about it, which was actually kind of strange. The whole thing was really strange, now that I think about it. He almost seemed nervous."

Bonnie didn't have time to give it much thought. She needed to get the voice modulator back in shape by tomorrow. It really was too bad though. She wasn't a fan of the flashing red square.

The little canary yellow segmented bars jumped as she applied the test signal one last time.

She wondered what Wilton could possibly have against it.

-----------------  
-knightshade  
January 6, 2006


End file.
